


Where We Start From

by TLynn



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLynn/pseuds/TLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Start From

**Author's Note:**

> Post-'Resurrection Ship' I and II
> 
>  _“What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning.  
>  The end is where we start from.” -- T.S. Elliot_

“Madam President?”

Billy’s soft, courteous voice lifted her head from the papers on her desk. He handed her the phone.

“It’s Admiral Adama for you, ma’am.”

“Gods,” she said. “I didn’t even hear it ring. Thank you, Billy.”

She slid her glasses of her face as she took the receiver from him and put it to her ear.

“Admiral Adama,” she said into the phone. “How’s the new job going?”

“Fine, Madam President,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Thank you for asking.”

“What can I do for you, Admiral?”

“I was wondering if you had dinner plans.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, a flutter in her stomach.

“Then perhaps I could join you on Colonial One,” he said. “Say around nineteen hundred hours? If   
you’re feeling up to it, of course.”

“That sounds lovely,” she said. “I’ll see you at seven.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, ending the call with a soft click.

From his chair, Billy watched her hang up the phone. She reached a hand to her face and covered a small   
smile, her eyes on her desk, but her thoughts visibly a hundred miles away. Or at least a few hundred   
feet away, aboard _Galactica_.

He smiled, too, and returned to his work.

* * *

Bill arrived promptly at seven, a bottle of something in hand.

“What do you have there?” she asked, her movements slow as she led him to the table.

He quickly rushed past her and placed the bottle on the table, extending a hand to help her to her chair.   
_Ever the gentleman_ , she smiled to herself.

“Thank you,” she said once seated. “Please. Sit.”

He took his place across from her and she reached for the bottle, squinting at the label.

“I don’t have my glasses,” she said, looking up at him. “What does it say?”

“That,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “is my last bottle of Caprica’s finest vintage.”

He produced a corkscrew and motioned for the bottle, which she gladly handed over. Her lips upturned   
into a smile as she watched him open it and she could immediately smell the deep, rich bouquet of red   
wine. He poured each of them a glass and lifted his own. She followed his lead.

“To new beginnings,” he said.

She nodded her approval, her grin widening, and gently touched her glass to his. She took a small sip,   
savoring the fruity and full-bodied flavor. It warmed her throat as it went down.

They ate in comfortable silence, he eating nearly all of his meal while she merely picked at hers. She’d lost   
much of her appetite as the cough, headaches, and fatigue became more persistent, her lack of proper   
nutrition only serving to make her symptoms worse from time to time. She instead nursed her wine,   
enjoying the slow build of warmth throughout her entire body.

She saw the scowl he tried to hide once he noticed she wasn’t eating and set her glass back down. She   
watched him with focused eyes as he wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a long swallow of his wine.   
He was just itching to say something, she could feel it, but he held back, resting back in his seat.

“What made you decide to become a teacher?” he asked.

She giggled.

“What?” he asked, smiling.

“Is this a date, Bill Adama?” she asked. She felt punchy. It felt good.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he said, bowing his head, but catching her eye and flashing her a toothy   
grin, as he reached for his glass again.

“Well,” she said. “It was a memory from my childhood, actually.”

She surmised the wine was finally hitting him as well as he relaxed further into his chair, listening to her with   
rapt attention. She doubted anyone or anything but the screens in the CIC had ever been privilege to Bill   
Adama’s unwavering gaze for some time. It unnerved her and excited her.

“I don’t remember very much from when I was a young child, but I’ll never forget my first day of kindergarten,”   
she explained. “I was absolutely panic-stricken. My mother walked me to the classroom door and as soon as I   
realized she intended on leaving me there by myself, the crying and screaming started. I can still feel it, that   
intense fear of being left alone, and the heat of the tears just streaming down my face.

She basically had to drag me in and led me over to where he teacher was sitting at the front of the classroom,   
an audience of fascinated children before her. She was telling them a story about a caterpillar. I can’t really   
remember the details of the story anymore, but the basic idea was that the caterpillar was hiding from the   
person it was crawling on. She used the index finger of her right hand to mimic the movement and trail of the   
caterpillar going up her arm. She stopped once on her forearm, told a bit of story, then her shoulder, then, and  
I’ll never forget this, she wormed her finger up until it was settled under her nose.

My little five-year-old brain was so taken with the idea of this woman with a caterpillar under her nose like a   
mustache. I could see it in my head, could see its big, fuzzy body and brightly colored stripes. I turned my head   
to make sure my mother was watching and she wasn’t there. She’d left and I hadn’t even realized it. And I was   
too excited to see where that caterpillar was going next to even care.”

She closed her eyes and smiled at the memory, at the warmth surrounding it, her fingers tracing around the rim   
of her nearly empty glass. She could feel his eyes taking her in still.

“I didn’t realize it at that moment, of course,” she continued, opening her eyes again. “But as I got older, that   
memory stuck with me and I knew I wanted to have that kind of effect on people, on children. I wanted to be able   
make them feel as safe as my teacher made me feel.”

She shrugged, finished with her story, and drank the last of her wine in one gulp. He moved to pour her another   
glass, but she held her hand up to stop him.

“I’m a cheap date these days,” she said with a wink. “How about you? Why the military?”

“There was a war,” he said simply. “I didn’t feel there was any other option.”

“Hmmmm. No, that’s too easy.”

“Excuse me?” he asked with a laugh.

“What if there hadn’t been a war?” she asked. “What then? Was commanding a battlestar something you dreamed   
about doing when you were young?”

“No, I suppose not,” he said, finishing his own drink. “I’m pretty sure my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps,   
but we didn’t always get along, so I was going to be damned if he got his wish.”

They shared a chuckle and she nodded, urging him to go on.

“When the Cylons first attacked,” he continued, “a lot of people I knew died or were injured. I was still in school at the   
time, but joined up with the military as soon as I was out. It wasn’t an option _not_ to, not in my mind. And as   
it turned out, I was a pretty good pilot, so it was a good fit.”

“And the rest is history,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Their gaze never wavered, even as something unseen yet tangible passed between them. She felt warm again, felt the   
long-forgotten sensation of butterflies flitting their wings in her stomach, but it wasn’t from the wine this time. She   
opened her mouth to speak, but a violent cough came out instead.

She covered her mouth and clutched her abdomen, the muscles still sore from her last coughing fit. He was up from   
his chair immediately and on his knees at her side, gentle hands coming to rest on her arms. Once she caught her   
breath again, she opened her eyes to his worried face.

“I told you to stop looking at me like that,” she said, placing her hand his rugged face. “I’m fine.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly, a beat or two longer than he had the night before in front of Billy. When he pulled   
back, he got to his feet and held out his hand.

“Let me help you over to the bed so you can lie down,” he said.

She took his hand and let him lead her the few feet to her bed. She reclined back and exhaled slowly, her body grateful   
for the rest in spite of herself. She watched as he tidied up, replacing the chairs, stacking their plates, and gathering   
their napkins. She smiled, wondering how and why the fates had brought them together, how in all this death,   
destruction, and uncertainty, they’d survived to find each other. He re-corked the wine and drank the last little bit from   
his glass before setting it next to hers. He turned to her again.

She’d felt life slipping away from her, slowly but surely, and up until recently, had reached some measure of peace with   
her fate. She’d fulfilled what she believed to be her destiny as best she could and though Baltar wasn’t an ideal successor,   
he had the trust and respect of the Fleet and that would have to be enough. There was nothing she, or anyone, could do   
to save her and she had done her best to accept that. Then Bill had come along and the pull of life was that much stronger.

“Would you like to have dinner again tomorrow?” he asked.

She couldn’t help but wonder if their paths would have ever crossed on Caprica has the Cylons not attacked. And if so,   
would this thing, whatever it was, have existed between them? Would he have taken the chance? Would she have?

“Yes,” she said. “I would.”

“Good,” he said and walked back over to her.

He took her hand and pulled it hp to his lips, placing a soft kiss across her fingers. She squeezed his hand in hers and   
felt tears sting at her eyes.

“Will you send Billy back?” she asked, blinking back her tears. “I’ll need my medication.”

“Of course,” he said, letting go of her hand. “Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

She watched him leave, smiled as he glanced back at her as he went through the door. Whatever it was that had grown   
between them terrified her and excited her all at the same time, the ramifications, personal and professional, ever   
present in her mind. There were a million reasons to close off her heart to this man, but there was no denying how   
_alive_ she felt at the very idea of truly letting him in.

“Bill?” she called.

“Yeah?” he asked, reappearing in the doorway.

“What _did_ you want to be when you grew up?”

“Happy,” he said. “Just...happy.”

“And are you?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Despite everything, I think I am.”

He left again and she felt tears threaten to fall once again. No, she wasn’t ready to die. Not quite yet.

* * *  
end

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to the lovely Dashakay for the beta. YOU ROCK, my dear!


End file.
